


My Appletree, My Brightness

by PrecariousSauce



Series: More things Between Heaven and Earth [1]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Fae & Fairies, Family, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 06:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrecariousSauce/pseuds/PrecariousSauce
Summary: Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, the brand new head of the Hellsing Organization, just wants a moment away from pretending she's not a twelve year old girl too busy to mourn her father and the vampire that makes that task exponentially harder. She steals away into the woods behind the estate to find even a moment's peace.She instead finds that there is far more lurking in the dark than vampires.
Relationships: Alucard & Integra Hellsing
Series: More things Between Heaven and Earth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544479
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	My Appletree, My Brightness

**Author's Note:**

> This will hopefully be the first in a series of one shots of our intrepid vampire hunters, even beyond Hellsing, dealing with the wide and wooly spectrum of Creatures of the Night. We're only starting with Faeries entirely because I love them.

Priya is only able to hold her child for a scant few minutes before, after a whisper in his ear from Walter, Arthur snatches the newborn baby from her arms and hurries out of the room. He doesn’t stay long enough to hear if Walter explains anything to her. He doesn’t need to. The young man is cold and callous, especially to the women in Arthur’s life. Likely as not he’s relishing in her growing panic.

Arthur doesn’t pause. He makes the long trip down from the second floor into the basement, taking the stairs two at a time. He pushes the heavy steel door open with one arm while the other holds his daughter tight to his chest. After thirty years, the chamber no longer reeks of rot and old blood. The scent is like that of an old library, and the dust in the air makes his daughter sneeze her very first sneeze. Arthur’s heart clenches tight. The sweet little sound is all it takes to remind him why this is worth the risk.

He steps into the room and strides towards the shadow chained to the back wall. The thing is more mummified corpse than man now, leaning shriveled against the wall with it’s eyes sunken in and mouth hanging open. It doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe– well, it never did much of the latter before. Arthur draws the 'dagger’– more of a glorified letter opener, but sharp enough to get the job done– from his jacket. He slices open the pad of his thumb, squeezes it to get the blood beading on the surface, and swipes it quickly along the petrified tongue of the thing on the wall.

Though the blood is old and no longer pure, the effect is near-instantaneous. The body lurches forward, the hair returning to it’s natural silky, ink-black state as it tumbles forward and hides the face. It strains against the chains, strong enough to make the metal creak, but not strong enough to break it. It would take far more blood for that. Arthur can catch the crimson glow of his eyes as the creature sniffs at the ground like a bloodhound, before the head snaps up.

Alucard glares through his hair and hisses, "You have some nerve, Arthur–" the baby girl squirms and makes a little fussy noise that stops Alucard’s voice in his throat. Arthur’s not sure he can pick apart and identify all the emotions on Alucard’s face, but he knows for certain one is fear.

"Yes, I _do _have some nerve," Arthur sighs, "But I _also _don’t have any other choice."

Alucard with a bit of effort schools his face into something slightly more neutral; "So they’re _still _a problem."

"As long as the Hellsing Organization exists, they will _always _be a problem."

Alucard’s deep red eyes are locked on the child; "Have you Named her yet? She needs to have a Name if this is going to work."

Arthur frowns; "Not yet. She was just born…"

He turns to Alucard with an amused glint in his eye; "What would _you _Name her?"

Alucard’s mouth twitches at one corner; "I only had sons, never daughters. But I suppose if I had… Justina."

Arthur purses his lips; "Justina… I can never promise her that what we do is _just_… Integra. So that she’ll remember to be honest, honorable, and fair. Her Name is Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing."

There’s a shiver that passes down his spine as the Name leaves his lips. Alucard shudders as well, a deeper, sharper motion. He knows better than most creatures, better than most of his own kind, what kind of power there is in a Name.

Arthur awkwardly maneuvers the dagger and one of Integra’s tiny hands so he can prick the tip of her index finger. The pain, insignificant by the standards of an adult but for an infant brand new and terrifying, makes her start wailing all over again. Arthur rocks her and whispers soothing nothings into her little ear to try in vain to calm her. Alucard doesn’t flinch. Arthur expects his gaze to be on the fresh blood, but they stay on the baby girl’s face as it twists with sobs.

Arthur squeezes a few drops of blood onto the floor in front of Alucard, reciting as he does, "As her father, Sir Arthur Brentwood Harlow Hellsing, I ask for your service looking after Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, overseeing her spiritual growth, mentoring her, raising her and acting as her guardian should I no longer be able to do so."

Alucard takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes as he answers, "I, Vlad III Dracula, agree to these terms. The Contract will be sealed in blood."

Alucard bites his tongue. A dribble of blood escapes from the corner of his mouth as he leans down and licks Integra’s blood off the floor. Human blood and vampiric vitae mingle on the antique stone. For being born from words, the feeling of this magic locking into place defies their description. It’s older than what was used to bind and warp Alucard into his current, nightmarish state. It’s older than the Antediluvian forces responsible for Alucard being possible in the first place. This magic is as old as the Earth.

It has to be if it’s going to combat creatures just as old.

Alucard swallows the last of the blood. As he looks up at Arthur through his hair he can already see the color draining from his features. The effort it’s taking the elder vampire to keep himself upright seems to increase by the second.

Alucard’s voice is back to the condescending sneer Arthur remembers; "How long am I to remain here, _Young Master?_"

Arthur smoothes his features and replies, "Until you are needed again."

He leaves Alucard alone in the dark for another twelve years.

* * *

Integra has always been good at hiding.

First it was Hide and Go Seek with Walter and her father. Walter could usually find her after an hour or two, but Father would panic after fifteen minutes and scramble the staff– so, usually, no matter who she played with Walter was the one who ended up finding her in the end. After that Integra got quite good at hiding from her teachers and the headmistress at school, whether she was actually in trouble for starting a fight or just bored of her classmates, and would spend hours in the library or on the roof before anyone caught a glimpse of her. And a month and a half ago Integra learned just how good she was when her skills helped her evade her uncle long enough for her to find Alucard.

Who is, of course, the one person she _can’t _seem to hide from.

He’s been her figurative and literal shadow. Whenever she thinks he’s not around, Alucard materializes from the dark with some smart remark and that insufferable grin. She doesn’t leave the estate without a shaggy black hound at her side, a bat flitting around above her head, or simply the hairs on the back of her neck refusing to settle. She wonders if he knows just how _oppressive _his presence is. Alucard towers above everyone, a wall of red and black who keeps everything hidden behind opaque sunglasses and a wide scar of teeth. Even when he can’t be seen, when he’s merely nearby, Alucard exudes… Integra doesn’t know what else to call it but a _pressure_. Being near Alucard feels like being at the bottom of the ocean.

Walter doesn’t seem to mind it. They’ve worked together in the past, he probably got used to Alucard’s… _everything_ back then.

Integra _does _mind. And she doesn’t _want_ to get used to it.

She _wants _to hide in the attic, on the roof, in her school’s library. She wants to wait there until they decide she’s a lost cause and give the organization to someone else. She wants to stop pretending she’s stronger and smarter and older than she is. But Alucard or Walter can find her in the house, and she was pulled out of school to run the organization.

So at high noon, while she’s supposed to be doing paperwork she still doesn’t entirely understand, Integra climbs out the window of fath– _her _office. She drops to the grass and looks around. She knows the guard rotations, but it doesn’t hurt to double check. There’s no one in sight. Integra picks up her skirt and sprints for the trees on the edge of the Hellsing estate.

The fence is electrified, but Integra knows the one spot where a fox dug for months before their hole collapsed. It left a perfect divot for the petite Integra to get on her belly and wiggle beneath the fence, coming up filthy on the other side. She takes another look around. No bats hanging from the branches. No sound of paws on dirt. The hairs on the back of her neck have stayed firmly in place. Integra nods to herself, adjusts her glasses, and strides with purpose further into the forest. She doesn’t walk with a clear destination in mind. She focuses all her attention into avoiding the crunchy autumn leaves on the ground and keeping an eye out for any birds or animals with bright red eyes.

Slowly, by inches, the forest around her starts to change. The autumn colors grow more vibrant, the leaves and air both crisper. The trees slowly start forming up into orderly rows. The oak and beech are slowly replaced by apple trees, full of ripe, perfect fruits in all manner of greens, yellows, reds, and mixes of the three. Integra looks up to see the sky is still overcast– it’s England, of course it is– but the clouds are a soft, cool, near-lavender gray. They sit low, making the world feel smaller, more enclosed. She smells spiced cider on the wind, and the same breeze brings with it the sound of a singing voice, female, sweet, and magnetic.

All thought of how she’s _sure _this place wasn’t behind the estate the last time she came here is erased by an irrepressible curiosity. Integra turns in the direction of the voice and starts to follow.

As Integra tracks the song like a bloodhound tracks a scent, she tries to decipher the words. The language isn’t English. It sounds vaguely, distantly Gaelic, but not quite. It sounds like Gaelic might have, decades past, long before the first Roman made landfall on these islands. The youngest, newest parts of Integra’s brain draw her ever closer, no matter how much the ancient stem squirms and hisses for her to turn the other way.

She turns a corner, around a tree filled with big, golden apples, to find the source. The source is a woman, petite and slender, reaching up on tip-toes to pluck a bright green, sugar-speckled apple off a branch and deposit it in a large basket tucked into the crook of her elbow. Her skin is pale and dappled with freckles. Her bright copper hair reaches her lower back as it shines in light too bright to be coming through the cloud cover. She’s wearing a simple dress and apron, and Integra can’t place if their style is one hundred years out of date or four hundred. The woman turns and looks upon Integra with honey-hazel eyes. She stops singing to smile at her with perfectly dimpled cheeks.

"Oh my, hello there. Are you lost, my dear?"

For a moment, Integra doesn’t answer, simply because she’s trying to parse her accent. It’s close to Welsh, close to Irish, close to Scottish, but not clearly any of them. And there’s something… _distracting _about it. Every time she tries to pin down exactly what, she gets hung up on something else about this woman, like how straight and white her teeth are, or the perfect stitching on the hem of her dress.

Integra takes another glance around; "I… I think so."

She tips her head slightly to one side and the corner of her mouth quirks mischievously; "And were you _trying _to get lost, or did you come by it honestly?"

Integra purses her lips and avoids meeting the woman’s eyes.

The woman stares her down for a few more moments before her smile turns sweet again; "I understand, dear. Sometimes home is the hardest place to be when you’re young. In the meantime, I certainly wouldn’t object to some company while I finish up picking for the day."

She turns back to the tree and plucks another apple while Integra asks, "Is this your orchard, Miss…?"

The woman’s eyes twinkle and she replies, "You can call me Liliana, dear. And yes! If you look down the way you’ll see my cottage," Integra follows her loose gesture down the row to see a small house with white smoke drifting from the chimney, "Usually it’s not just me working the grove, but Samhain will be upon us soon, so I gave my fieldhands liberty today."

Integra’s brows draw together; "Samhain… You mean Halloween?"

Liliana turns around with another apple in hand, the other to her chin; "Now, what _shall _I do with these? I was _thinking _pie, but… Dear, what’s _your _favorite way to prepare an apple?"

Integra blinks a few times, like she’s trying to clear sunspots from her eyes; "Well, I honestly just like eating them as they are."

Liliana’s brows jump up and a bubbly laugh twirls from her mouth; "Really? I could’ve sworn there wasn’t a child alive who could resist a caramel apple, or an apple tart!"

Integra shrugs, the ghost of a smile coming to her lips; "I’m not the fondest of sweets. I like sour better."

Liliana grins, conspiratorial; "Then these," she tosses the green apple into the air and catches it, "are probably your favorite kind, hm?"

Integra can’t help a giggle; "Guilty as charged."

Liliana holds the apple out to her; "Then this one is yours. Consider it a Samhain treat."

The apple in Liliana’s hand explodes in a burst of juice and seeds. She lets out a little yelp and Integra shields her eyes, getting apple pulp all over her blazer’s sleeves.

A deep dark voice that makes Integra more annoyed than usual to hear drawls, "That’s more than enough of that."

Liliana turns to the source and Integra follows her gaze. Alucard looks entirely incongruous in these peaceful surroundings, like a bloodstain on your grandmother’s sweater. He’s not smiling. With his eyes hidden behind his glasses Integra can’t tell _what _he’s feeling.

His voice comes out short and clipped; "What’s your Name, Sidhe?"

Liliana steps between Integra and Alucard, glaring down her nose at him; "I will not let you harm this girl, Vampire. Those silver bullets will do nothing to me."

Alucard starts stalking forward; "_What _is your _Name, _Sidhe?"

Liliana puts a hand on her hip and clicks her tongue against her teeth; "Now you won’t get anywhere with manners like _that, _Vampire. Honestly, this is what your people get for being _solitary _creatures–"

Alucard pulls back the hammer and he snarls, "Thrice I ask and _done. _What. Is. Your. _Name_."

Liliana’s whole body freezes.

There’s a sudden tight, pinched quality to her expression, a posed nature to her stance. Her gaze is hard and flat as it focuses not on Alucard’s gun, but on his face. Her long hair starts to float up from her back, as if she’s wading into water.

She opens her mouth, and the word that comes out of it… Integra does not hear it. She _feels_ it. Liliana speaks the bitter chill of an October night, the sour bite of a green apple, the smell of rotting leaves, the dim light of a jack-o-lantern at the end of a shadowed lane. The name 'Liliana' is no longer enough to encompass all this woman is. Integra couldn’t fathom pronouncing the name this Woman of the Orchard has given. She would need to live at least another century before she could puzzle out how to say the first syllable.

Alucard’s mouth curls up at one corner; "Now was _that _so hard?"

The Woman of the Orchard’s voice is smooth and featureless as a still pond; "I gave you only one of my Names, Vampire. That is all you asked for, and that will not be enough to force me away. The child has made a choice, and as her _servant _you are duty-bound to respect it."

Alucard’s lips part to show a glint of sharp fang; "I see your information is incomplete. I serve the Hellsing _family_. However, this girl _specifically _is my goddaughter."

Integra and The Woman of the Orchard both exclaim, "_What?!_"

Alucard’s grin has slotted itself into place as he elaborates, "Her father, Sir Arthur Brentwood Harlow Hellsing, entrusted me with her spiritual upbringing, mentoring her, raising her, and acting as her guardian when he passed. As I am now acting in her father’s stead, she is an heir to my _own _position, which makes her a Countess-in-Waiting. And if I understand your people’s naming conventions correctly, _you _are much lower down in the Court than a Count."

Alucard stops a foot from The Woman of the Orchard, looming over her; "But seizing control of the Hellsing Organization through it’s young, _suggestible _heir would certainly change that for you, _wouldn’t it?_"

Integra feels her stomach flip and twist.

The Woman of the Orchard gives nothing in return but the facts; "The girl walked into my orchard of her own free will. When offered food and hospitality, she chose to accept it."

Alucard crosses his arms over his chest; "Since your people are quite interested in _detail _and _specificity, _I would remind you that Sir Hellsing has first of all not _eaten _any Sylvan Food. And second, all she has accepted is to try an apple offered to her by a stranger," he looks over to Integra, "Sir Hellsing, do you want an Unseelie Sidhe to keep you in permanent debt through a series of elaborate contracts you can never possibly hope to fulfill?"

Integra stares for a moment, open-mouthed, at the two creatures before her.

Part of her is still absolutely _furious _with Alucard– for following her _again, _for not giving her a _moment’s _peace, for getting in the way of a perfect opportunity to just leave every terrible thing happening in her life behind and forget it all, for shooting her apple, for _everything_.

But a larger part of her that is growing with every second is even _more _furious with herself for falling for this… _thing _standing in front of her. The more she looks at The Woman of the Orchard the more she realizes she should’ve seen through her. Her pupils are the long slits of a hungry fox, and her canines aren’t quite as long as Alucard’s but they’re just as sharp. She’s a predator, a carnivorous plant luring in insects with her lovely scent and eye-catching colors. She’s just as much a creature of darkness as Alucard, and her lizard brain knew it the whole time.

Integra balls her hands into fists, sticks out her chin, and snaps, "No, I don’t."

Alucard lets out one of those dark, rich chuckles; "Turnabout is fair play, Sidhe. The girl has made a choice, and you are _honor-bound_ to respect it."

This time, when The Woman of the Orchard smiles, it doesn’t reach her eyes; "Do be careful making your way back. The forest can be treacherous this time of year."

Alucard doesn’t respond. He instead gestures for Integra to follow before turning on his heel and striding away. Integra has to jog to make it up next to him and to keep pace, taking three strides for every one of his. She almost turns to look back at The Woman of the Orchard, but Alucard’s hand closes over her shoulder.

"Don’t look back," he whispers, "Not until we’re home."

Now this is a story Integra knows. She keeps her eyes steadily ahead, and when she hears the voice start to sing again in that strange, ancient tongue she takes a handful of Alucard’s coat in a tight grip.

They walk in silence for several minutes, and only when the voice disappears does Alucard let out a heavy sigh; "_Finally_. Dealing with the Fair Folk is always _exhausting_."

Integra quirks an eyebrow; "Wait… That was a _faer–?_"

"I know what you’re about to call her, _don’t,_" Alucard cuts in, "These creatures are going to be harassing you until you die, the last thing you want is to offend one and turn the entire Court against you. When one is in ear-shot, and you never know when one is, they are the Fair Folk, the Good Neighbors, the Sidhe, the People of the Mounds, or just the Folk if you don’t have that much time. 'Faerie' is the adjective, but 'Sylvan' also works."

Integra stares up at him for a moment before asking, "They’re really _that _offended by people using an _adjective _as a _noun?_"

Alucard just grins; "You’re lucky that one wanted something from you– Any other Unseelie Sidhe would’ve considered you worthy of all _sorts _of nasty tortures for trespassing in their domain. And it would’ve taken me _quite _a bit longer to get you out of _that_."

Integra’s brows fall into a furrow and her grip on Alucard’s coat tightens; "Why… Why would my father make _you _my _godfather? _How does that– How can a _vampire _be responsible for my _Christian _spiritual upbringing? You’re my _servant _how can you _also _be my guardian?!"

Alucard shrugs one shoulder; "It’s more a security measure than anything else, and really has hardly anything to do with _that_ God. The Fair Folk play a long and subtle game, and they know how dangerous Hellsing can be to any creature of the night, no matter how quietly they try to work. The best way to nip a problem in the bud is to take control of it. The moment they tried to make a Changeling out of his heir Abraham knew I was the only reliable method of protecting the child he had. Ever since then, whenever a new Hellsing heir is born, I become their Godfather so that a creature of comparable power has a competing claim over the child and makes the Fair Folk open to negotiating with something they consider an equal. Simple as that."

Integra presses her lips tightly together, shoving out through the cracks, "But… why _you?_ Why is it always _bloody you?_"

Alucard stops walking.

The one thing Integra hates the most about Alucard is when he stands still. It isn’t the strength, the pressure around him, the casual insensitivity that makes her deeply aware of exactly _what_ he is. It’s the simple fact that he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t fidget, doesn’t twitch, because he doesn’t _have _to.

Alucard shocks her out of her reverie by removing his sunglasses. He places them in a pocket on the inside of his coat, then takes his hat off. He walks around in front of her, and kneels down to look her in the eye. He’s done this before. His expression was different then. His grin had been that of a feral animal eager to be released from his cage. This…

Honestly, he looks like her father would when he was about to tell her something serious.

"It’s _me_ because your father, Walter, any other human, they won’t be around forever," Alucard replies, voice low and soft, "I, for better or for worse, most likely will be. For all I claim, Integra, I didn’t _forget _being human. I _especially _didn’t forget being your age. Granted, my life was," and most surprisingly of all Alucard looks away, a _shudder_ running up his spine, "_very _different. But I… was abandoned and alone, as well."

Alucard bows his head; "I protect you because I am bound to do so. I do your bidding because I am bound to do so. The only thing I can offer to you honestly is that I will… do what I can to make sure you don’t feel alone."

Integra’s fists come loose at her sides; "Is… _that _why you follow me _everywhere?_"

Alucard hastily pulls his sunglasses back out and actually fumbles with putting them back on; "I said I’m doing what I _can, _not that I’m doing it _well_."

A laugh comes bursting out of Integra, startling Alucard into dropping his hat and glasses on the forest floor. She giggles helplessly, covering her mouth to try and hold it back but failing entirely. Alucard frowns at her, collecting his personal effects and putting them back on before settling for drumming his fingers on his knee as he waits for her to calm down.

"Father," Integra chokes out between laughs, "Father was right, your kind, you all really _are,_ a bunch of sad, lonely children!"

This time when Alucard smiles it’s a small, awkward thing, genuine and odd and actually a bit nice; "Your father was always more perceptive than anyone gave him credit for."

Alucard rises to his full height and offers Integra his hand; "Shall we?"

Integra curtsies to him before taking it; "Lead the way, _Count_."

Alucard chuckles to himself, "As you wish, _Countess_."

As they start to walk again, Integra wonders, "_As _a Countess-in-Waiting, what am I actually getting if you die and I inherit your position?"

Alucard tips his head to one side as he thinks, before answering, "A chair, a coffin, a collection of wineglasses and _maybe _a castle in the Carpathian Mountains if your family didn’t sell it off at some point."

The two of them don’t arrive from the same place Integra left. They come out of a copse of trees within the borders of the Hellsing estate, with the moon hanging high in the sky. This much Integra remembers from faerie stories.

"Is it still the same day?"

Alucard squeezes her hand; "Yes. It’s still Samhain, or at least it will be until the next sundown," he grins down at her, "Feel like trick-or-treating, Master?"

Integra shakes her head; "Not for a very long time."

* * *

Ten years pass.

Now, when Integra walks to the edge of her estate, she doesn’t need to crawl beneath the fence. The fence has been torn open by main strength of some Millennium shock trooper or another, and she can walk easily through. The further she walks the colder the forest becomes. The dead leaves are dusted in snow, and the canopy opens as the skeletal trees lose their leaves. The trees move into their rows, but they’re no longer in full bloom. They’ve been picked clean, and rotted fruit sits on the snowy ground.

She hears the same singing, but now she understands the words. Better than that, she understands the deep, mournful timbre in the voice. The words smell of smoke and burned flesh, of ancient stone littering city streets, of a wound that will never heal.

Integra turns a corner. The Woman of the Orchard is almost exactly as Integra remembers her, but now she sits on her knees, carving something into the trunk of a tree. The runic writing is as old, as Celtic as the woman’s words. Her hair has shifted, like the coat of a fox, from warm red to cold white.

The Woman of the Orchard stops singing and looks over her shoulder at Integra; "Oh… that is a shame, my dear. You had such pretty blue eyes."

Integra’s hand drifts instinctually to the bandages covering her socket; "It could be worse. At least I still have one."

The Woman of the Orchard turns to face her fully; "But it’s not the same as having both, is it?"

"… No, it isn’t," Integra replies, eyes shifting from tree to tree and seeing carvings on each trunk, "They hurt you, too, did they?"

The Woman of the Orchard’s hair starts to float and her voice turns hard and sharp as obsidian; "They ravaged the Land, and by ravaging the Land they ravaged the People. We _are _the Land. We _are _the People. Their filthy blood has soaked into the soil, cut bloodlines short, broken Promises and hearts. We are Wounded, Sir Hellsing. What we have lost can never be found again."

Integra stares off into the middle distance; "… I suppose I can understand that much."

The Woman of the Orchard’s hair slowly falls as her eyes focus on Integra; "You speak of your Godfather? He may sit in the Space Between Spaces, but that does not make him lost. He is simply… misplaced."

Integra goes still.

The Woman of the Orchard slowly rises to her feet; "What is misplaced can be retrieved, Sir Hellsing. The Fair Folk are quite good at finding what slides between the cracks. He isn’t far."

Integra purses her lips; "You _are _quite good at finding what’s lost. But you do nothing for free."

The Woman of the Orchard clasps a hand over her chest; "It would not be free, but it would be from the kindness of my heart, Sir Hellsing."

The sound of boots crunching quickly through snow and leaf breaks the moment, as does Seras’ voice calling over the wind, "Sir! Sir Integra! Why are you all the way out here, you’ve been gone for hours, and," Integra turns to see Seras looking around with wide sweeps of her head, "Where _are _we?"

The Woman of the Orchard tilts her head to one side, regarding Seras through a curtain of white hair; "Does this Vampire serve you as well, Sir _Integra Hellsing?_"

Integra feels a frisson of cold race down her spine at the use of her name, and from the corner of her eye she sees Seras give a full-body shudder. Seras looks between Integra and The Woman of the Orchard, her expression wary, her shadowy arm slowly losing it’s humanoid form as she grows more and more nervous. Right, Seras didn’t have much time to learn what _else _Hellsing fights.

Integra reaches into her blazer and retrieves a cigarillo; "She does. Now, Good Lady, if you could give me a moment to consider your offer."

The Woman of the Orchard’s smile is small and pale; "Certainly, Sir Integra Hellsing."

Integra lights the cigarillo. She takes several long drags, watching the smoke dissipate into the gray sky. Alucard had promised her, once upon a time, that he would do what he could to keep her from feeling alone.

Her eyes drift to Seras, and she supposes he’s kept it.

She takes her cigarillo out of her mouth and states, "Your assistance, though graciously offered, will not be required. If Alucard _can _return to us, he will. We will be going now, Good Lady. Thank you for allowing us passage into your orchard."

The Woman of the Orchard’s face doesn’t change, even as her hair starts to flow upward; "Do be careful making your way home. You never know what’s lurking in the woods these days."

Integra turns on her heel; "I’m better informed than most."

She walks back the way she came, only pausing to take Seras by the shoulder and whisper, "Don’t look back until we’re home."

Seras blinks a few times, but nods; "Yes, Sir."

They walk in silence for several minutes, and only when the canopy of leaves above them blocks the light again does Seras ask, "Who… _What _was that?"

Integra smirks; "Just think of her as our Neighbor."


End file.
